Excavating Greece: Classicism Between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe
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Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008) Citation: Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, “Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe,” Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008), http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/autumn08/94-excavating-greece-classicism- between-empire-and-nation-in-nineteenth-century-europe. Published by: Association of Historians of Nineteenth-Century Art Notes: This PDF is provided for reference purposes only and may not contain all the functionality or features of the original, online publication. ©2008 Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide Athanassoglou-Kallmyer: Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008) Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe by Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer Puvis de Chavannes’s pendant murals Massilia, Greek Colony and Marseille, Gateway to the Orient, created in 1869 for the grand staircase of the Museum of Fine Arts, in Marseille, succinctly capture key European perceptions of the period about Greece, ancient and modern (figs. 1, 2). Massilia, Greek Colony, shows the civic ancestor to modern Marseille, the Greek colony of Massilia established in Gaul by the Phoceans, as a primitive Arcadia, its inhabitants portrayed under a dual identity, both as the original Greek founders of the port- city and as the forefathers of the French. Marseille, Gateway to the Orient presses the point further. The ancient Greeks’ traditional sea-faring role is now re-attributed to modern Frenchmen, whose ship sails into the harbor of Second Empire Marseille. The Greeks have disappeared, with the exception of a modern Greek Orthodox priest with long beard and characteristic black cassock and headdress, hunched among the exotic cargo, animate and inanimate, brought back home from France’s colonial empire. Roles have been reversed, identities have been switched: the French now rule the seas as the worthy heirs of the Greeks of yore; while the Greeks, once the mighty builders of civilizations, are shown as mere subject people, as alien and extrinsic to Europe as any of the colorful medley of Orientals on board. Hailed as the national, all-French painter of his day, Puvis conceived his mural as a flattering icon of France as a world power, the ruler of Oriental nations and a controlling force over the Mediterranean, described as a “lac français” by Napoleon III and as “a Gallic sea” by Puvis himself: “The city, seen from the sea, unravels in the horizon. Its ports open up to the ships that dash toward it. One of them, cut in half by the frame, forms the foreground. On the deck of the ship, [are] all the types representing the various races of the Levant. An Armenian, a Jew, a Greek, an Arab … seated or leaning against the railings, they contemplate the sea of the Gaules. It is Marseille, Gateway to the Orient.”[1] The frescoes were completed in August 1869, only a few months before the official opening of the Suez canal (on November 17, 1869), a major French engineering and geopolitical breakthrough that sanctioned France’s maritime and imperialist pre-eminence in the competition with England. Marseille, re-built to rival Paris in magnificence, acquired a commanding position as the prime Mediterranean gateway to Europe’s oriental colonial possessions. To mark France’s international prestige, Puvis chose to allude to ancient Greece, especially to ancient Greece as a colonial power revived in modern France as a global imperial force. The two scenes suggest superimposed temporal strata, the classical past of the French city, its chronological remoteness suggested in its ghostly pictorial handling, and its modern reincarnation, vibrant with a sense of instantaneous movement and vivid color. 2 Athanassoglou-Kallmyer: Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008) Fig. 1, Puvis de Chavannes, Massilia. Greek Colony, 1869. Marseille, Palais Longchamp. [larger image] Fig. 2, Puvis de Chavannes, Marseille. Gateway to the Orient, 1869. Marseille, Palais Longchamp. [larger image] Puvis’s murals usher in the main theme of this article: the emergence, in the second half of the nineteenth-century, of a new strand of classicism engaged with the period’s European imperialist forays in the Mediterranean region. In the wake of Greek independence and the creation of an independent Greek nation-state in 1830, the discourse such forays engendered went beyond the abstract appropriations of Hellenism that had haunted the Western European imaginary for centuries.[2] (“We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece,” wrote Shelley, enflamed with philhellenic enthusiasm, in the preface to his play Hellas (1821).[3] In this high era of European colonialism, we must regard allusions to Greece and Hellenism as concretely entwined with notions of imperial expansion (and the resistance to it). At stake was no less than the construction of national identities, both on the part of the foreign nations and of Greece itself,[4] spurred by antithetical notions of nationalism—a “nationalism of power” for the former, as opposed to a “nationalism of survival” for the latter, to use the terms of the historian Dominique Borne.[5] Within that volatile historical frame, I explore how visual images, in tandem with a politicized cultural discourse, articulated anew the foundational myth of classical origins as shaped by the concrete realities of colonial appropriation of the Mediterranean lands, especially the newly accessible Greek territories.[6] They did so largely, as I show, through the means of archaeology, a soaring discipline at the time and one typically perceived as detached from contemporary and worldly preoccupations, thereby validating yet again Edward Said’s time-tested statement “that there is no discipline, no 3 Athanassoglou-Kallmyer: Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008) structure of knowledge, no institution or epistemology that can or has ever stood free of the various sociocultural, historical, and political formations that give epochs their peculiar individuality.”[7] Although freed from Ottoman rule since 1828, Greece in the nineteenth century was no longer the glamorous land of ancient times. Its territory diminished, its resources depleted by decades of war, its population transformed by centuries of Ottoman occupation, Greece was a cultural and political space of great ambiguity, “forever situated in the interstices between East and West,” in the words of the historian Stathis Gourgouris.[8] Although in principle an independent nation, the fledgling state was in reality only a protectorate of the allied Powers—France, England, Prussia, and Russia—that had contributed to its liberation from Turkish rule. In 1832, the Powers appointed Greece’s first king, Otto von Wittelsbach, second son to King Ludwig I of Bavaria, a passionate lover of classical Greece. The young king arrived in Greece in 1833 accompanied by an extensive court and staff, including three Bavarian viceroys, a Bavarian army, and a host of Bavarian bureaucrats. Bavarian rule— which lasted for three decades—was no less than tyrannical, and it seemed that the Greeks had only exchanged one repressive regime for another. Greek nationalism soared. Libertarian uprisings proliferated in towns and countryside triggering bloody reprisals on the part of the Bavarian armed forces, as depicted by an eyewitness, the amateur artist Ludwig Köllnberger (?-1892), a lieutenant in King Otto’s guard who was stationed in Greece from 1833 to 1838 (fig. 3).[9] The guillotine, a punitive instrument unknown to Greece till then, was introduced in 1834, courtesy of France, and first used for the public execution of a Greek chieftain, a revered veteran of the liberation wars. Such acts of brutality did little to endear foreign, especially Bavarian, presence to the Greeks.[10] We read in the Greek newspaper Dimokritos of October 9, 1851: Fig. 3, Köllnberger, Bavarian Troops against Greek Insurgents, 1909. Watercolor copy from original by Hans Hanke. Athens, National Historical Museum. [larger image] One is filled with horror and indignation when one hears about the tortures and wounds which are being inflicted on honest and peace-loving citizens by government officers … one must be similar to a wild beast or a senseless stone in order not to be swayed by compassion, not to shed tears at such accounts by citizens monstrously tortured and repressed…[11] 4 Athanassoglou-Kallmyer: Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2 (Autumn 2008) In 1862, Otto finally abdicated under pressure from nationwide unrest and returned to Munich, only to be replaced a year later by another foreign king appointed by the Powers, a member of the Danish dynasty of Glücksburg, who ascended the Greek throne as King George I. Foreign control of Greece’s territory went hand-in-hand with foreign-spurred efforts to disenfranchise its troublesome modern population. Reflecting the period’s perceptions of the rise and decline of civilizations, the common view regarding the modern Greeks was one of decline and degeneration from their famous ancestors. Travelers to Greece repeatedly pointed out the physical and cultural discrepancies that separated the modern Greeks— rough in looks, crude in manners, and uneducated—from the European ideal of the noble and handsome Hellene of whom, ever since Winckelmann, the Apollo of Belvedere stood as the exemplar.[12] To listen to Edmond About, writer, art critic and a trained archaeologist who spent two years in Athens in 1882-83: The beauty of the Greek race has so been touted and travelers to Greece so firmly expect to find the family of the Venus of Melos there, that when they arrive in Athens they think that someone has been pulling their leg.